


ADVERSUS SOLEM NE LOQUITOR

by marshmallownose



Category: House of Anubis
Genre: Gen, Mr Sweet saw her as a daughter figure don’t even lie, Patricia is 10, Pre-Canon, this isn’t even a good fic I’m so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 13:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30039606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallownose/pseuds/marshmallownose
Summary: She reminds him of the son he left a continent away.
Relationships: Eric Sweet & Patricia Williamson
Kudos: 6





	ADVERSUS SOLEM NE LOQUITOR

“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer,” Patricia said, scrubbing a hand under her nose to wipe away a sluggish trail of blood still left over from the skirmish.

Eric sighed, folding his hands on his desk as he peered down at the eleven year old. Her hair hung loose, not all tied up out of her face like it usually was, and she was a little banged up. Not as badly as her opponent, but banged up nonetheless.

Still, he needed to address the problem. If Patricia continued to act up, he would have no choice but to exclude her from school, which would be disastrous for the ceremony. Only seven years to go.

An idea occurred to him and he nodded understandingly. “It was very nice of Mr. Campbell to hold back,” Eric said, tapping a finger against the back of his hand.

Predictably, Patricia’s face twisted in outrage. “Hold back?” she exclaimed, voice pitching up. “No way! He wasn’t holding back. I’m just better than him. I mean, did you see the way he swung?” She crossed her arms across her chest and fixed the headmaster with a smug look. “Mick’s a total meathead jock.”

  
  
“Last I heard, Miss Williamson, you’re one of the best offensive players on our youth football team,” he pointed out.

She scoffed and wiped at her nose again; Eric offered her a handkerchief, but she declined, most likely out of pride. “Just because I play football doesn’t make me a jock. That’s a mindset, a state of being.”

“Mmm, I see,” Eric hummed. “Was it that mindset that spurred you into picking a fight with Mr. Campbell?”

Patricia threw back her head and laughed. “What? No,” she snorted. “That’s funny, Mr. Sweet.”

Eric cocked his head, watching her curiously as her laughter subsided. “Is it?” he asked, and Patricia shrugged. “What actually happened, Patricia?”

Patricia sighed, uncrossing her arms and readjusting her herself in the chair. “He was picking on Alfie,” she said. “I like MIck just fine on a normal day, but he wouldn’t give his stupid blankie back.” She huffed and wrinkled her nose, wincing at the movement. “I told him not to bring it to school, but Alfie’s an idiot.” Eric raised an eyebrow at that, but Patricia barreled on, “Jerome pulled it out of his bag, and then Mick saw it, and, well, one thing lead to another, and then Mick had the makings of a shiner.”

She reached up for the third time to wipe the blood away from her nose, and this time, when Eric offered her his handkerchief, she took it. Eric took a moment just to observe the young girl. At first glance, she was nothing but trouble, another troubled child whose parents jumped at the chance to ship her off to a boarding school so they didn’t have to deal with her.

Still, that wasn’t everything. It was becoming a bit of a trend for Patricia, the lengths she seemed to go for those within her little circle of friends. It would be almost heartwarming if she would simply channel that devotion in a healthier way.

Quite frankly, out of the handful of descendants he’d been tasked with bringing to the school, Patricia was his favorite. He knew, he should probably favor Joy, what with her status as the Chosen One, but he’d always been quite fond of the little spitfire who stood up to boys twice her size and won all to protect her friends’ childish comforts—he hadn’t forgotten the Bunsy Bun incident of a year prior.

“You know, Miss Williamson,” Eric said after a moment, “you remind me of someone.”

She cocked her head, still holding the handkerchief against her nose. “Yeah?” she asked. “Who?”

Eric sighed and ran a hand down his face. “My son,” he replied, and Patricia expression piqued with interest.

“You’ve got a kid?” she asked, no doubt wondering about who’d ever decided to have a child with her old fuddy-duddy of a headmaster. “Do we know him? Does he go here?”

Eric shook his head. “No, no,” he chuckled tiredly. “You don’t know him, and for my sake I hope you never meet. I don’t think I could handle the havoc you’d wreak.”

“He sounds like fun,” Patricia said. “So what? I remind you of your troublemaker kid?”

Eric tilted his head slightly, trying to think of the best way to proceed. “In a way,” he said. “I cant be there for him; however, I can be there for you.” Eric heaved a particularly heavy sigh. “I only want what is best for you, Patricia. You have to stop solving problems with your fists, or I can’t protect you.”

Patricia sniffed and pulled the handkerchief away. The blood had finally subsided. “I don’t need protection,” she mumbled. “Never have, and I certainly don’t need your help, Mr. Sweet. I’m fine.”

He smiled regretfully. “ _ Adversus solem ne loquitor,” _ he said, and Patricia’s face twisted up in confusion. “‘Do not argue against the sun’,” he explained and gestured toward the door. “A week’s detention, Miss Williamson.” She scoffed in outrage. “Be thankful it isn’t more. And please, keep the handkerchief.”

Patricia got up, clutching her book bag and the bloody cloth. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, before breezing into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. “Tell your son I said  hello or whatever!”

Eric smiled a tight-lipped, regretful smile at the closed door. “I wish I could,” he said. “I wish I could do more.”


End file.
